


Stage Five

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Drarry Dump [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't get the last word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stage Five

**Author's Note:**

> Ugly.

I can’t describe the complete and total anger that consumes me at this moment; it grips me so totally that I can literally  _feel_  it tightening around me. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what I’ve done or where I’ve been or why Harry Potter is lying at my feet.

But I’ll certainly try..

It started with a kiss and ended with a fist, a slight contrast to most of the other personal situations I’ve allowed myself to be in. Usually it was the fist that came first, but he always did have the uncanny ability to twist me inside out and upside down; even as children. When exactly, this became an obsession is still something I can’t put my finger on. Nor can I tell you who’s obsession was stronger; his..or mine. He came to me first, it is important that I tell you that, although I suppose it hardly matters now. I allowed him entry and then refused to let him leave, I am no better than he. It was fierce and violent and spiteful, even from the beginning and I loved every second of it. I couldn’t get enough of it; I was like a junkie and he was my pusher. I think we both got off on the pain, but he enjoyed it on a level I’ve never witnessed before. I could always see it there, just beyond those perfect emerald orbs, the hunger for hurt. And I suppose in that regard, it was me who obliged him.   It was a vicious cycle and we both fed off of it, I can see that now. He’d push a button and I’d push two more, it was  **always**  give over take. Always.

Now it’s gone, all of it and I know the ache in my chest is hurt and loss, but it manifests as anger. Anger that I use on him; against him.  This is his fault, he forced me to do the one thing I never wanted to do and now look at us. He’s down there and I’m standing here with blood on my soul and despair dancing just beyond reason. I can’t take back what I’ve done, I know that. I can’t even look at him now, I know he’s there, waiting, staring back at me with soulless eyes; broken frames lying askew on his dirty face, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. This is his fault, how dare he do this to me.  I should have known he’d have the gall the leave me here like this, so unceremoniously in the black night. My fists are curling and I have the urge to hit him, to punish him for making me do this. To him, to me; to us.  For the first time in my life I am at a loss; the man who never ran out of things to say, scars to place, had finally been struck mute. I gaped, mouth forming the familiar perfect ‘O’ that I’d seen mirrored on his face so many times.

Oh Merlin, what had I done?

My eyes snapped shut and frantically whispered “no no no no” to myself, willing this nightmare away. I would open my eyes and things would be right. He’d be there, grinning with that ridiculous expression that drove me insane. Poking fun and pushing my buttons. 

_Please don’t let it be real.._

Of course it was futile to expect to win this one, I was never on the upper hand in situations like this. I lowered my gaze and forced myself to look at him, my breath catching in my throat as I took in every detail. The way his leg was bent made him resemble a dancer, forever caught in some random graceful movement. I couldn’t breathe; I could feel the anguish starting to consume me, threatening to swallow me as I knelt down. My fingers curled into his shirt and I lowered my head to his chest, perhaps a small part of me hoped to hear the rise and fall of breath where there was none. An involuntary convulsion racked my body and I let it, I deserved this white-hot pain that now split me in two. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I let it get this far? He had to have seen it coming, he knows me well enough to recognize when I’d had enough. My eyes snapped open and I raised my head to glare at his face that was smudged with dirt;  _had he known?_  I stared at him for a long moment, wishing he would fucking answer me as another sob escaped me. I didn’t even hear the despairing cry as it broke the silence of the sleeping city.  

“You asshole!”

I’m screaming at him now, calling him names that are falling on forever deaf ears. How could he do this to me? The bastard had known exactly what he was doing, he had somehow managed to get the last word even though he nothing left to say. My name calling eventually turns into guttural screams, somewhere in the distance dogs are barking. I no longer care about appearances or saving face, my head is ready to explode with something I’d never ever had to face in my entire life on this level. He thinks he’s won, but I refuse to let him have that, even now. I  _can’t_ let him have it, because where does that leave me? I want to shake him and beg him to wake up or to trade places with me, but I’m not naive enough to try it. Instead I look acceptance head on, knowing I must live with what I’ve done and my mistakes and my guilt; just as I always have. 

But I can’t.

I can’t let him fall into that gaping hole of a category in my life, because he wasn’t a mistake or a regret, or merely something wrong that I’d done. He was different and I was stupid for thinking I could have it all. Maybe I was naive. 

As my fingers close around the cold smoothness of a wand I can’t help but feel a little bit smug, and as as I part my hair with the unforgiving tip I smile, tear-stained cheeks and swollen bruised lips curling into something that must look utterly manic.

_You don’t get the last word.._


End file.
